Felicity's thoughts after the news of her beloved Gus Pike's ship going down.
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I want to die. I want to feel the black glove of sweet release wrap round me, envelope me, and then pull me away from all of this – all of this nothing.
I wake up in the morning and sometimes I forget. I've even caught myself getting out of bed and swiftly taking up residence at my old little desk by the window. The white wash beginning to chip that Felix and I had to apply as punishment after one of our infamous rows eons ago. The drawer would be opened unceremoniously and I'd rattle about inside until my fingers brushed against my prettiest stationary – the one I always reserved only for him. Pulling it out and placing it on top, I'd grab for my pencil. It's then, with my hand poised above my paper, at the ready to write about all of the silly little going ons at Avonlea, not really writing what's bubbling and waiting to burst out. It's then that reality cracks in with a harshness that I blissfully hadn't known existed before. My entire body freezes as the cold and thorny truth assaults my brain and once again I begin to feel the all too familiar frigid splinters of numbness trickle throughout.
Of course, that's a good start to the day. That's when I actually am able to grasp sleep for a few fleeting hours. Most of the time, I'm not so lucky. My thoughts are usually jumbled and jangled with the same burning question. Normally screaming, shouting in my ears. The only thing to consume my vacant soul.
How could he leave me?
I know fate is cruel sometimes, the future is fickle – but this? It's my fault, really. Why was I so careless in the past? I always thought there's time for everything. No need to rush. There was school, I had plans.
I thought that I had time. I was heedless to the fact that he may not always be there. That time may not always be there. But never in my wildest dreams did I think this could happen. I never thought that he would be violently yanked away. Sometimes, I like to blame her.
Blame Sally Potts. She's the one who first told me. I will never forget her face when the filthy words poured out of her poison lips. Or the feel of strange satisfaction when my hand made contact with her cheek. She was always so jealous of me. She probably felt some nasty jolt of joy when she was the initial one to spread the false report. I know it's false. I refuse to believe it. Sally Potts is a liar.
My poor family is worried sick about me. I don't blame them, I suppose. I know that I wander around like a zombie. But really, what else am I to do? The love of my life is gone. I still refuse to say that he's d– because he's not. He did not drown, I know he didn't. I don't care if no one else believes me. I absolutely refuse to put any stock into that story! Even Aunt Hetty has resigned herself to the lie. Mother and Father give me the same looks of pity and concern every time I pass their way. I know they mean well, but it only adds to the wall of isolation. The wall that I've built myself. The wall that I need to protect me – to get me by. Cecily and Felix try their best to distract me, but they always end up having to give in and leave me to my own somber thoughts. That's the way I want it. If I do anything else it's like I'm admitting that he's really gone. So, I've built my own limbo state to live in. It's the only way.
I often wonder if this will ever change. If I'm fated to a life full of desolation. Will anything ever feel normal again? Will I ever be tempted to say more than one sentence at a time to anyone? No one knows that I do still hold entire conversations sometimes. They don't know because it only happens at the lighthouse. I slip away from town, from everything, and my feet take me to where I need to be. I don't even realize I'm heading there until I've already reached my destination. The only place where even a sliver of me feels alive. I go there, I sit on the stoop like he and I used to do, or I stand on the cliff's edge. The light catches in the ruby ring adorning my finger and I clutch one of his well worn letters to my chest. I can feel him there and I can almost hear his lilting voice calling out to me. I tell him everything that I should have confided to him all along. I tell him I love him. I tell him I want him. I tell him I need him.
The sobs usually follow these confessions, they wrack my body and leave me exhausted. That's when the malicious tainted truth cloaks me – what if? What if he really is gone forever? The vast curtain of forever wails through me then. I keep telling myself that he didn't drown. That he wouldn't really leave me all alone. He promised me. He promised that he'd always be there for me. He'd never leave me. We were to be married. He's made me a widow before a bride.
I stand there, leaning over the precipice, watching the island waters lapping at the crag and the dark thought ebbs in my brain. I could join him. I could let my heel slip and fall in the ocean. I could release myself from the black coat of sorrow and open my arms to the sweet reunion with him. I stand there and ask him – Would you be there waiting for me on the other side? Would we finally be together? Or would I be greeted with cruel and high pitched laughter in your place? Taunting voices whispering that I had been right – that you really weren't lost to sea. That you're actually waiting – just waiting, for me in some unforeseeable place. Waiting for me to save you – waiting for me to save myself.
It's that last thought that stops me from the temptation of a speedy exit. For I feel it in some place deep in my bones that you're still here on this earth. So, I'll continue to roam about, lifeless, waiting for some sign from you, my love. I'll continue my morning ritual to the beach, casting out my little flowers to beckon you home. I don't care if I have to wait for you til I rot. I will wait for you, Gus Pike.
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